Chapter Text
You never intended on ending up in Colombia.
Fresh out of college with near perfect grades, you had sent off job application after job application. Somehow, that just wasn’t enough. Each application was met with rejection, and your savings began to run out - fast.
So, you moved back in with your parents, relegated to your childhood bedroom. You stayed put through the piteous looks, the “everything will happen when it’s meant to,” talks, and the whispers behind your back whenever people came to visit.
After a few months of that, and even more rejections, your younger sister announced to the family that she was engaged and getting married within the month.
Your plight was forgotten in the chaos of organising a campy ceremony and reception in your parents’ backyard. You had welcomed it - to get all of the attention off you was a relief.
But as you sat through the wedding, it was constantly rubbed in how much more together your sister’s life was. She was married, not reliant on her parents, and beginning her adult life in a wonderful position, even as she suffered through a wedding that looked more like a child’s birthday party.
So, how could anyone blame you when your mind just snapped?
You wouldn’t leave the house. You spent your days curled up in bed, reading or binge watching TV. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You didn’t know how to live. What had been promised to you at the end of a good college education had never been in the cards for you.
It was only when your mother sent you to an unemployment agency after months of desolation that there appeared to be a light at the end of the tunnel. The recruitment agent you sat down with told you of a “lucrative secretarial job with a US government agency.” Luckily for you, they didn’t require someone with practical experience - you would learn quickly on the job, apparently. You just had to be organised and well presented, and you ticked both of those boxes.
It sounded like a dream. It was almost too easy. You would get a good salary, add an impressive entry level job onto your CV, and network with some fancy government suits.
But then came the catch - the job was in Colombia.
How were you supposed to uproot your entire life when it was still so fragile? It seemed like a cruel joke by the universe that you couldn’t even get a job in your hometown, yet apparently you were the “perfect fit” for a job thousands of miles away.
You spent the next two weeks after that staring at the contract you had been given. You couldn’t just up and leave your life in a heartbeat. You craved the comforts of home, the familiar routine.
But this was an opportunity - and a good one at that. It was a way to crack into an almost impossible workforce, and maybe, just maybe, you’d move up the ladder.
So, that was how you found yourself walking through the hallways of the United States Embassy in Colombia. You were now the secretary of DEA attaché Javier Peña. You had heard that the man had helped take down Pablo Escobar. Apart from that, you knew nothing.
With a navy ribbon tied around your ponytail, the leather of your high heeled Mary Janes crease free, and your shirt ironed to the millimetre, you hoped you looked the part.
You finally found what you were looking for - a glass door bordered with dark oak, with a placard displaying JAVIER PEÑA next to it. You knocked.
“Come in,” a voice came from the other side.
Pushing the door open, you entered Javier’s office. He didn’t even look up at you. Clad in a navy suit with a red tie hanging slightly loose around his neck, he looked every part the boss. Your boss.
“Good morning, Agent Peña. I’m your new secretary.” You reeled off the line like you had rehearsed it, because you had. You had spent most of your drive to work this morning practicing your first meeting with him.
“It’s great to have you here with me. Please, take a seat.” He gestured with one of his hands to the two chairs across from him at his desk. You couldn’t help but notice the veins carving out paths along his hands. And his hands were just so big, that even his silver watch looked tiny on him.
“So… you must be wondering what you’re here for, then?” he asked, like he couldn’t figure out how else to start the conversation.
“I’m just checking in, sir. I thought I would introduce myself and see what tasks need completing today.”
You sat upright, straight as a stick. Your hands were clasped in your lap. Do not fuck this up, you thought to yourself. This is your one chance.
“Right,” he gave a little shake of his head. Was it disbelief? Annoyance? Or something else? “First of all, a coffee each morning would be great. Black, with no milk and sugar. I’ll be here around 9 AM each day.”
You nodded. Coffee was easy. You could do that.
“Each day, I’ll expect you to deal with all the phone calls and direct them to the correct lines. All urgent tips and inquiries come to me. Anything relating to the Cali cartel goes to Van Ness and Feistl.”
You nodded again. Answering phones was easy, too.
“I’d also like you to type reports, and fetch any files I need. You’ll need to keep my calendar up to date and make sure that I do not get double booked. Meetings with Ambassador Crosby and Colombian officials take priority over everything else. That’s it, for the moment. Any questions?” Javier leant back in his desk chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
It all seemed pretty straightforward - you just had to sit at your desk, type some things up, and make sure you were organised.
“No, sir. Not at the moment. I’ll be sure to let you know if I have any, though,” you replied, making sure you were sitting up straight.
“Great. That’s great.” Was that a… smile on his face? Did he want to laugh at you?
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll get right to it.”
“Of course. Go ahead. I’ll be right here. Come and talk to me if you need anything, OK?” He immediately reached for a stack of folders on the corner of his desk, getting back into whatever he was doing before you turned up.
“OK. Thank you. It was nice to meet you, Javier.” You gave him the obligatory parting message before you stepped out of his office, leaving the door open just a gap. Then you took your seat at your new desk.
Right away, the phone rang. So, you got stuck in. Life was slowly becoming livable again.
Javier had no idea why you had been sent to Colombia to work for him. He had had your file sent to him at his request, and he read it from top to bottom. You were smart - near the top of your class in both college and high school. But apart from that, there was nothing else to show. A few small jobs here and there. No real world experience. Not even a typing class - they still ran those, didn’t they?
He felt sorry for you. There was a sense of inexperience about you, that you didn’t quite belong in the Embassy. It wasn’t that it seemed like you were clueless - quite the opposite.
It was the shoes, the damn ribbon in your hair - you stuck out like a sore thumb against the women with their big, puffy hairdos and loafers leftover from the 80s.
To you, it was just a secretarial job. Print out some papers, fax files into DEA headquarters, make his coffee, and take the occasional phone call.
But if you weren’t careful, the US Embassy would chew you right up. He was sure the CIA would love to get their hands all over you. Stechner was already probably plotting on how he could collect dirt on Javier with you as a double agent.
Damn Stechner. That bastard was the reason he had been allowed to come back down here, even though he was of the opinion that Javier belonged in a prison cell.
He thought of Katie. Ever since he had taken her home with him, she had her eyes on him like a hawk. Maybe she’d have another try with him, and send the message through you.
Javier swore that this time in Colombia was going to be different. No taking home women from work. No informants. No Los Pepes. No going behind people’s backs or getting secrets from the wrong guy.
He was going to stay within the bounds of the law. So, once he was done here, he would have an impeccable record, and the Cali cartel would be done for good.
But maybe that wasn’t possible anymore with you around.
Because for once, Javier actually had someone he felt obligated to. If he fucked up, you would catch the brunt of it.
He couldn’t let that happen. Not to you. Not when you were young, and bright, and still had some hope left in the world - even if it was just a small amount.
He knew he had to look after you now.
After a day filled with phone calls, fetching coffee, and dealing with printers, it was now late evening at the Embassy. Javier was still there, so you were too. You just assumed it was part of your job. You clocked in when the boss did, and clocked out when he packed up.
Sitting at your typewriter, you were writing a report Javier had requested you do by the end of the week. It was Tuesday. You could do better than that.
It was some detailed, thorny thing about some suspicious activity in Cali. You were nearing the end of it.
Per the US Department of Justice, in conjunction with the office of the President of Colombia, it has been decided that immediate action shall be taken on this matter. Folllowing
You stopped typing immediately.
Oh no.
Oh no.
How had you made a mistake that simple? And right when you were almost done?
You had spent nearly an hour on the report, and to rip it all up because of one silly typing error? You didn’t see the point. Surely Javier and the other agents who would encounter this on the ladder up though the DEA could deal with a little typo.
So you finished the report up, those three l’s staring up at you like some deep inner sin.
Ripping the paper out of the typewriter, you knocked on Javier’s door, even though it was still open by just a sliver. You peered in, noticing his suit jacket was now off and a glass of whiskey sat half finished on the desk.
“Sir, I have the report you requested. It’s finished.”
You placed it in front of him. He stared down at it for a second, before he looked up at you.
“That was fast. And you don’t have to call me sir. Javier’s just fine.”
You nodded at that.
“Is there anything else you need me to get done tonight, Javier?”
He shook his head, still looking down at the freshly typed report.
“No, it’s OK. You can go home now. Have a good night.”
“Thank you, Javier. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You flitted out of his office, but not before you saw him pick a red pen out of his desk drawer.
Your second day of work was shaping up to be just as mundane as yesterday. You made Javier’s coffee for him so that it was ready as soon as he came in.
You answered the phone, sending tips off to the relevant agents, and passing through anything urgent to Javier.
You stood in the queue for the printer, the other women of the office whispering about you.
But the end of the day quickly rolled around. Just as you were about to pack up for the day, Javier came out of his office and paused by your desk.
“Can you come in for a quick chat?” he asked.
“Of course, Javier,” you replied, before you got up and followed him.
As he came in after you, Javier shut the door and pulled the blinds down, even though the rest of the DEA office was completely empty. He circled around to his side of the desk, and picked up a piece of paper.
“What did you need to talk to me about, Javier?” you asked hesitantly.
“This.” He slid the paper over the desk to you.
It was your report from yesterday. At the bottom, right in the last paragraph was your typo, surrounded by a crisp red circle.
Folllowing
The red blared into your eyes, like a siren screaming your incompetency.
“Can you see what you did wrong here?” Javier questioned, lowering his voice.
You nodded. “Yes, Javier. I spelt ‘following’ wrong. But… I just thought that since it was a little typo, and I had spent nearly an hour typing that report up, that it would be OK.”
“I know you’re new here, but this isn’t OK. The government swoops in on things like this. One typo could make the difference between getting approval for a raid or not. It could result in the DEA losing funding.”
Shit. You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t fuck this up. But because you had decided to be lazy, you were now being berated over one tiny typo.
“I’m sorry, Javier. I won’t do it again. I can fix it now for you, if you’d like.”
“That won’t be necessary,” he said sharply.
“It won’t? Why? I’m your secretary. I’m supposed to do these things for you.”
“It won’t be necessary, because I’m keeping this.” He took the paper off the desk and slid it into one of his desk drawers.
“But, Javier, I need to fax that off to D.C.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not now.”
He came around his desk to stand behind you, his right arm against yours. It was like he was caging you in, but still giving you the option of escape.
“Do you want to learn from this?” he whispered into your ear.
You paused - it was just a typo.
But after all, wasn’t this your chance to be good at your job? To be a proper, functioning adult? You couldn’t just screw it all up because of a small mistake.
“Yes,” you said quickly.
“Hands on the desk,” he commanded.
“What?” you asked, confused.
“You heard me. Hands on the desk.”
So, you did that, placing your palms against the cool, dark wood. Javier was your boss, after all, and you were his secretary.
“Pull your skirt up.”
You did that too, reaching behind with your left hand to pull your knee length skirt up to your waist.
You had thought it would be inconsequential this morning, but now you knew it was a completely stupid idea. You had decided to wear a thong today, but not just any thong - a lacy blue one you had bought back in the States from a lingerie store on a whim.
“Fuck me,” Javier muttered from behind you, sucking in a breath. It sounded almost painful for him.
“Do you want this?” he asked, as he brought one of his hands to hover just above your ass.
You nodded, almost gasping for air. “Yes.”
You wanted him to show what happened when you made mistakes. You wanted him to be your boss, the boss - in every sense of the word. You needed it.
“Spell it. Following.”
“F-O-L-L-O-” you recited, before his hand came down and met your right ass cheek. You gasped at the light contact, unconsciously shifting forward on the desk.
“Start again,” he commanded.
“F-” This time his hand came down on your left, just at the junction between your ass and thigh. You gasped again at the feeling - how could something like this feel so good?
“O-” He spanked you again, his hand almost covering your whole ass cheek. Your skin was starting to feel warm, the sting tingling it.
“L-” His hand came down again, alternating to your other side. You whined loudly this time, squeezing your thighs together. The momentary relief for the throbbing between them almost made you cry.
You knew you deserved this. You had made a terrible mistake. You would learn. You had made Javier’s job harder, when you were supposed to make it easier.
“L-” Two more spanks followed, one to each ass cheek. After each one, his calloused hand smoothed out the skin. It was almost like he was apologising for his harshness.
“O-” Smack.
“W-” Smack.
“I-” Smack.
“N-” You wanted to moan, to say his name, to do something. But this was the US Embassy in Colombia, for God’s sake, and anybody could stumble across this.
“G,” He left one more spank, the hardest one yet on your right cheek.
As your ass jiggled, Javier let out a little noise that sounded almost like a groan. He didn’t smooth out your skin again. He just took your hand off your ass and took a few steps back.
You stayed leaning over his desk, your back arched, with your ass in the air. Your heart was racing, and you could feel the wetness starting to pool in your folds.
“That’s all now. You can get up,” he said matter of factly.
So, you did. You stood upright, quickly trying to fix up your skirt.
“Javier-” you began.
“I expect the corrected version on my desk at 10 tomorrow. No mistakes. You understand?”
You nodded meekly.
“Good,” he took in a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re free to go.”
You managed to get out a “good night, Javier,” before you practically sprinted out of his office. You grabbed your bag and made a beeline to the Embassy carpark.
What the hell had just happened? And why did you like it?
What the fuck did you just do, Peña? You’re an A grade cabrón.
That was the only thought running through Javier’s mind as you left his office. He had just broken at least ten workplace safety rules. If HR got any whiff of this, he would be absolutely done for.
He sat down at his desk chair and buried his head in his hands. That was a bad idea - they were still warm from the contact with your skin.
He had done stupid shit before. He had left a woman at the altar. He had got tangled up in bedsheets with prostitutes. He had provided information to a vigilante death squad.
This may have been the stupidest thing of all.
Javier wanted to scream at himself. He had made a silent promise to do Colombia better this time. No, not just better. Perfectly.
He had fucked that right up by spanking his new secretary in his office.
Javier didn’t even know why he had done it. Maybe it was that damn ribbon in your hair. Maybe it was how you glanced back into his office every 15 minutes or so during the day (he knew you thought you were being inconspicuous - you weren’t). Maybe it was the fact that he wanted to protect you from the bullshit bureaucratic rules of government work.
He had never just taken the lead like that. Whenever he had been with a woman, it was always an equal playing field. He took, he received. If she wanted to take charge, he’d lay down and take it. If she wanted him to lead, he’d happily oblige.
But this… the gasps of pleasure that escaped your lips, your pretty ass framed by that blue thong, the slightest wet stains on the lace being left by your arousal… He could feel a painful hard-on forming. He’d have to deal with it soon.
Javier was a ruined man.
He knew it couldn’t happen again. He would have to move on like it never happened. He would treat you cordially but keep you at arm’s length. When he was done in Colombia, you would stay behind and work for the lucky bastard who would replace him. Javier would never cross paths with you again.
That was the way it should be.
But the way it was going to be… well, that was an entirely different matter.
Javier Peña was completely and utterly fucked.